


Dean Thomas and the Black Heir

by jenny_wren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Thomas joins the Wizarding World. It could go better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Sirius Black/OMC (couldn't find this option). As a side note (and I can't believe I need to mention this but Alex thought people might get confused) this universe does not have mpreg, so Merle Black has a biological mother and everyone knows this, they just have no idea who she is, if asked most people would say she was murdered in a Death Eater rite years ago.

The hush that spread when the Deputy Headmistress announced,

“Black, Merle,” made Dean Thomas twitch with sympathy for the small, pale, scruffy, black-haired boy edging towards the hat. Dean already had butterflies in his stomach at the thought of walking up to the chair in front of whole school, but the way everybody stared at Black, Merle was thick with anticipation, almost predatory.

Dean had no idea who the boy was but he hoped the staring wasn’t because he was Muggle-born, if they stared at Dean like that he would probably turn tail and run.

“Surprised he had the nerve to show,” muttered the red-headed boy who’d thought they’d have to fight a troll.

The hat flopped down over Black’s head hiding him right up to his nose. It sat there for a long time before saying,

“gryffindor,” it sounded a bit uncertain.

Whispers rustled through the Great Hall like a grass fire as Black pulled the hat off his head and stalked towards the Gryffindor table. There was no cheering, the Gryffindors just stared suspiciously at their new addition.

The general muttering appeared to be that nobody could believe it. Even Professor McGonagall seemed stunned, instead of calling out the next name, her gaze followed the boy’s lonely walk.

“Who is he?” hissed a girl.

“He’s Sirius Black’s bastard son.”

_Yikes,_ thought Dean, _son of the guy who betrayed the Potters, his life must be hell, poor sod._

“What’s he doing in Gryffindor then?” demanded somebody else

That seemed to be the question of the moment. Nobody appeared to be coming to any conclusions. Personally Dean felt if Merle Black could just sit there while the whole Hall sneered at him, he was the most insanely brave person Dean had ever seen.

The sorting resumed and, after a shaky beginning, the cheering restarted, only to fade out again after a desperate gap during the P’s when it became apparent it wasn’t just a rumor, Harry Potter really wouldn’t be attending Hogwarts this year.

Dean kept an eye on Merle Black. As the new Gryffindors joined their House table they made obvious efforts to avoid the pale boy.

Dean felt incredibly sorry for him.

Finally his name was called, and with a deep breath he walked up to the chair and took the hat.

“Hmm,” said a voice and Dean jumped as he realized the hat was talking to him.

“Yikes.”

“Not a bad mind, and there’s bravery there too. You feel worry for the new Black.”

“Yeah,” Dean thought pugnaciously, “it’s not fair.”

“Not quite loyalty, but such fierceness. And yes, he needs a friend for all our sake’s. It had better be GRYFFINDOR.”

The applause started. Dean pulled the Hat off his head and stalked towards the Gryffindor table. Buoyed up by the Hat’s support he made straight for Merle Black, who was sitting at the far end of the bench, and sat down in the large gap left beside him.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully.

Black flinched like Dean had tried to hit him.

“I’m Dean Thomas. What’s your name?” He felt stupid after he’d said it. But asking a guy his name was only polite after all.

Black stared at him as if he were crazy, and, after a long pause where Dean wondered if he was crazy, the boy finally sort of smiled.

“I’m Merle Black.”

“Yeah. Pleased to meet you. Merle’s a cool name. Is it a Wizard name?”

Black let out a great barking laugh.

“Not in the least. Merle after the country singer.” 

Throwing his head back, he sang out loud, “And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole, no one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.” Breaking off, he shot Dean a vicious grin, all sharp canine teeth, “It’s our family song. ’cept Dad turned twenty-two. Da turned twenty-one, but his prison was more metaphorical.”

“Oh,” said Dean, not quite sure how to respond. He wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t think of a thing to say, let alone something comforting. It was probably just as well, he had a suspicion Black would bite his head off if he tried to be comforting.

His distress must have become obvious because Black’s face softened a bit. “My dads went pureblood on my second name though. Procyon.” His nose wrinkled up. “It’s bad I know.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m Dean Jacob Thomas. Jacob after my bio father. Dean for I dunno what.”

“Hey,” demanded a new voice aggressively. Turning Dean saw it was the red-headed boy again, Weasley something.

“Yes,” he said.

“Not you, Black. How’d you end up in Gryffindor, Black? You cheat the hat.”

Black shrugged his shoulders, “Both my dads are Gryffindors. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The gasp came in stereo, and Dean realized the whole table was watching the confrontation. Two more red headed boys arrived to back up their younger brother.

“What are you talking about Black? Your fathers are a traitor and a whore.”

“That’s a lie.” Black span around, flinging himself from the bench onto the two boys in a flurry of howls, kicks and punches.

Dean edged back from the struggle, grabbing the younger Weasley when he started to join his brothers. 

“Let me go,” he yelled, yanking back out of Dean’s grip, leaving Dean to pick between fighting him, or letting him pile in on Black.

To his intense relief that was when the Professor showed up.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Professor McGonagall. The fight continued unabated. She raised her voice, “Stop this outrageous behavior immediately.”

Yet another red head turned up, “Fred, George, cut it out.” He grabbed Black’s collar and hauled him back. He had his wand in the other hand and fired off several little green balls of light that made his brothers jump.

“Thank you Mr Weasley. Frederick, George Weasley, do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

“Black attacked us.”

“They insulted my dads,” Black’s voice was deadly.

“Mr Black,” the Professor paused. “Mr Black your loyalty to your fathers does you credit. However your father is an imprisoned Death Eater, I – ”

“That’s a lie. My dad is a political prisoner.”

A little of the Professor’s calm slipped away. “Your father is a mass-murderer who betrayed his best friend to You-Know-Who.”

“My dad is innocent and you’ve imprisoned him indefinitely without trial. You’re the ones acting illegally.”

“Wait a second,” said Dean. “He never had a trial? That’s not fair.”

“Tell me about it,” said Black. “My da’s been pointing that out for the last ten years and they still don’t get it.”

“Aw, everybody knows he’s guilty,” said one of the Weasley twins.

“He should still have a trial though,” a bushy-haired girl pushed her way into the conversation, “that’s the law.”

“Oh the law don’t matter none in Wizarding Britain,” said Black. “If you have enough power or money you can do whatever you want.”

“Mr Black, that is not true,” snapped Professor McGonagall.

“Couldn’t prove it by me. I 'spect if my dad had said Imperius, instead of Innocent, he’d have been out of prison years ago.”

There was an awkward sort of shuffling.

“That is beside the point,” said the Professor finally, “you should leave such matters to your elders –”

“– Cause they’re doing such a good job of it –”

“Five points from Gryffindor Mr Black. And another five points for starting a fight. Mr Weasley please ensure your brothers return to their seats.” 

She strode away.

Black glared after her, his face twisted up and poisonous, then, suddenly he laughed, 

“Just wish I could’ve beaten Dad’s record for fastest loss of points.”

The Professor’s steps clearly faltered but she didn’t turn around.


	2. Chapter 2

The oldest Weasley, a prefect, dragged his brothers away, and Dean urged Black to sit back down.

“Hey come on, calm down,” he encouraged, then froze up when his vision flipped.

His mum called it having a vivid imagination, but now he knew about magic, Dean wondered if that was why he had vision-flips. They didn’t happen often, but every now and then it was like the world went sideways and he saw the insides of things. He had a vision-flip of his dad when his mum first introduced them. Instead of seeing the man, he saw a large oak tree with great spreading branches offering him the promise of shelter. Dean had hugged the tree, who turned back into the man to pick him up happy and incredulous. His mum had been surprised and pleased at her shy son’s enthusiasm and says that was when she knew for sure his dad was right for them.

Dean stared at the vision-flip that was Black. It was a dark wild thing of broken feathers and matted fur, bleeding black blood. Sharp teeth, beak and claws gleamed ready to ward off any attempt to hurt or help.

Closing his eyes in a slow blink, he flipped his vision back. Black grinned at him mean and sly, ready to say something unforgivable that would drive Dean away back to the normal end of the table.

Dean had thrown away normal when he joined the Wizarding World.

“So tell me,” he said seating himself back beside Black, “Quidditch can’t really be better than football, can it?”

Black stared at him for a long moment, then grinned impishly,

“We’ll see if you’re still saying after our first flying lesson,” and turned away to help himself to some bread and butter.

“I’m a bit nervous about flying,” said Dean, because he was. He still didn’t quite believe flying on a broomstick was actually possible. It all sounded ridiculous.

“Me too,” said the bushy-haired girl, flinging herself into the conversation, “I’ve read all my books and memorized everything I can, but the flying ones didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t even understand the pictures.”

Black turned back to them, “Did you change them to 3-D?”

“What?” said Dean and the bushy-haired girl at the same time.

“Ah, thought so, that’s the big difference between Wizarding and Muggle books.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded the girl.

Black seemed about to snap back at her, then restrained himself with a visible sigh, “Look, have you got a book here…”

“Sure I –” she was already pulling one out from her bag.

“Preferably about Quidditch.”

The girl deflated.

“I have,” said Dean. He’d been hoping to get somebody to explain it to him. He pulled it out and handed it over. The girl got up from the other side of the table and hurried round to their side, squeezing onto the bench between Black and the edge.

Black opened the book, quickly flicking until he came to a picture of a game, which according to the words showed how to perform the Wronski feint, but Dean could make neither head nor tail of.

Black tapped the page with his wand and whispered “Revalo.”

Before Dean’s astonished eyes the page suddenly sprung to life. Little figures on broomsticks zoomed around above the pages, one of them plummeting downwards in frantic dive before leveling out just above the paper.

“There,” said Black, “Wronski feint.” He shut the book and handed it back to Dean, who stared down at in disbelief.

“That’s amazing,” he said, “I can’t wait to read it again. Thanks so much.”

Black shrugged his shoulders as if disclaiming all responsibility for helping out.

“But why didn’t the bookshop owner tell us that?” the girl stared down at the book in her hands as if it had personally betrayed her.

Black shrugged his shoulders again, “They can pass a law forcing him to sell books to Muggle-borns, but they can’t force him to be helpful.”

The girl clutched her book tight to her chest, “I suppose you’re one of those stupid ‘blood-purists’,” she accused, voice trembling.

“Nah not me.” Black grinned meanly. “I hate the whole Wizarding World and every single pillock in it completely equally.”

“Right,” said Dean, because there didn’t seem to be any way to reply to that. He turned to the girl, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hermione Granger. You must be a Muggle-born too.”

“Yeah, the Wizard World’s really confusing, huh?”

“It’s very different,” she agreed primly.

Black laughed, “My da said it wasn’t until his third year he stopped being surprised by stuff.”

“Third year,” said Dean weakly. It was nice to hear the confusion eventually stopped, but third year was a very long way away.

“Sure. He said in Third Year his disbelief meter broke completely and nothing that happened would ever surprise him again.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“Was I supposed to be comforting?”

“Your da was a Muggle-born?” asked Hermione.

“He is, yes.”

“But,” Hermione began.

“Say one bad thing about my dads and I’ll hex your tongue off.”

“So can you make the pictures in Hermione’s book 3-D too?” Dean asked hastily.

“Sure, if she wants.”

Hermione begrudgingly handed the book over. Black flipped it open on a potion recipe. A flick of his wand and a potions bench complete with instructor appeared and began to explain how to make the potion, demonstrating each step.

“Oh,” Hermione’s eyes went round and big. Then she said, “Oh,” again in quite another tone. “Oh no, that means I have to reevaluate everything.”

“Shouldn’t bother,” said Black. “You’re a Muggle-born.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do magic,” said Hermione hotly.

“Course not, but it don’t matter how good you are, you’ll only ever be ‘really quite bright for a mudblood’.”

“You shouldn’t use that word.”

Black shrugged his shoulders again and looked completely indifferent.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Hermione straightened up, “I’ll show you. I’ll show everybody.”

Dean’s vision flipped over again and in Hermione’s place was an otter. It was trapped on land, desperate and frightened but its teeth were bared fiercely.

Dean smiled, “I reckon you will.” He blinked twice and Hermione reappeared, “Think you could help me show ‘em too?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Black. “You’re both mad.”

“Yeah?” said Dean. “You telling me you don’t want to show them all what idiots they are?”

Black smiled poisonously, “What difference will it make?”

Dean wanted, very badly, to convince Black to join them. The hat had given him a mission and it was up to him to follow through. Besides, Black didn’t seem all that bad, he needn’t have told them how to make their books 3-D.

“You mean you wouldn’t enjoy seeing their faces when a couple of Muggle-borns show them all up?” he asked cunningly.

Black’s nose twitched.

“You don’t think it will annoy the heck out of them?” he tempted.

Black broke, “Alright,” he growled, “I’m in. But you’re going to have to work hard.”

“Agreed,” said Hermione, her eyes shining.

“Agreed,” said Dean, suddenly wondering what he had let himself in for.


	3. Chapter 3

It appeared Dean had let himself in for rather a lot. Given an objective Black transformed into a right scary bastard. After the Weasley prefect showed them into the Gryffindor common room and left them to it, Black grabbed his and Hermione’s arms.

“Come on, let’s go.” He hauled them back towards the door.

“Go where?” squeaked Dean. He coughed, “I mean, go where?” he asked in a more normal tone of voice.

“Practice,” said Black. “We need to review the lessons we have tomorrow and I need to pound as much information as possible into your dense Muggle skulls.”

“We are not dense,” said Hermione stiffly, as Black dragged them along the corridor, “and I’m sure we’re not supposed to be out of bounds at this time of night.”

“First real lesson of Wizarding World,” said Black, “rule-breaking is actively encouraged provided you don’t get caught.”

“But- ”

“And we won’t get caught, provided you stop talking.”

Hermione sniffed, “You’re not very nice.”

“You finally clued in? And you say you’re not dense. You’re welcome to go back if you want.”

“No, no,” said Dean. “We’re in.”

“Good. _Per ardua ad astra,_ ” he added abruptly.

To Dean’s surprise the heavy gold-framed portrait on their right swung back revealing a dark, shadowed room.

“It’s a secret entrance, just like the Gryffindor common room,” whispered Hermione.

“Yeah,” said Black as he hustled them inside. “My dad reckons that all the portraits in Hogwarts are hiding something if only we could figure out the right code. He was never systematic about investigating though. My da started tapping at the pictures and trying all sorts of words in his last year. He didn’t have enough time to cover the whole castle, but he still managed to get six to open up, including this one. My dad was dead impressed.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, “do you have access to his notes? I’m sure we could find more.”

“I guess,” said Black. He waved a hand as the portrait closed shut with a thump behind them and the room lit up around them, torches suddenly gleaming on the walls and a fire roaring to life in the huge fireplace.

It was a large study. In the center was a heavy wood table, piled with books and parchment and pots of ink. Pressed against the wall stood another narrower table, this one covered with cauldrons and glass beakers. Book cases lined every other available inch of wall, filled to overflowing with thick leather bound tomes.

“Oooh,” said Hermione, all starry-eyed, like Dean’s little sister when they went to the pet shop that had real live animals. Amy was going to be a vet when she grew up.

“But first,” Black grabbed Hermione’s shoulders and diverted her entranced walk towards the shelves to the table. “We need to get you up to speed. Now, please tell me you can use a quill pen.”

 

Ten minutes later, after being made to swear he wouldn’t say a word in class unless he absolutely had to, Dean was seated at the central table working on his penmanship. It was not what he had expected from magic school, but Black’s utterly horrified face when he ventured uncertainly, “But we get lessons in that, don’t we?” convinced him that practicing with the unfamiliar quill pen was essential.

“You have to understand,” Black lectured, “everything you do counts against you. Your very existence counts against you. If you blot you work, if your calligraphy isn’t perfect, you’ll be just another dirty, messy mudblood.”

Dean scowled, “And why am I bothered about their opinion again?”

“I honestly have no idea,” said Black, “but for some reason it seems to matter to you.” 

“Don’t you want to show them all you’re just as good as them?” demanded Hermione wrathfully.

“I’m better,” said Black, somehow not sounding arrogant at all, “but they’ll never accept me unless I renounce both my dads. That’s not happening, so,” he shrugged his shoulders.

Black sounded so accepting of the situation, it made Dean mad.

“Alright, show me how to calligraphy.” 

Black produced a range of school books from a satchel that seemed to operate like a Marry Poppins bag.

“And stop looking so stunned stupid by everything,” he grumbled at them.

He handed Dean a book on penmanship, a neatly ruled set of parchment for practice (“we’ll cover drawing the lines later, I can do them for you to start with”), a freshly sharpened quill (I’ll do this too, things can go a bit odd if you get blood in your ink”) and pot of ink.

Carefully forming letters between the lines wasn’t something Dean had done since kindergarten and he felt dumb and resentful. But as he carved through the stiff parchment leaving neat lines of black, a hot satisfaction bloomed in his chest as he defied this World that expected him to fail - even if it was such a minor act as being able to wield a quill correctly.

Black and Hermione were talking through the classes they would attend tomorrow and what was expected of them. Even Hermione’s scarily exhaustive research seemed to have large gaps in it.

“But why don’t they tell us any of this stuff,” she wailed finally.

“Would you tell somebody that they should wipe their feet on the mat?” challenged Black.

“That’s what the mat is there for.”

“Yeah, not in wizard homes. Wizards just spell their shoes clean. The mat is used as anchoring for protection spells. It’s polite to step right over it. If you actually wiped your feet on it, it would be awfully insulting.”

“But you know both sets of rules.” Hermione continued to fight her losing battle. “Other people must do too.”

“The last person to try and produce a book that would help Muggle-borns and Wizard-borns understand each other was called Lily Evans. Her name was placed on Voldemort’s list and she and her husband James Potter were both murdered. Nobody’s been much interested after that.”

“But Voldemort is dead.”

“The term Wizard-born was proscribed shortly after the fall of Voldemort as demeaning to True-born Wizards. You’re either a Wizard, or a Muggle-born. Same for Witches.” He made a low bow in Hermione’s direction.

“What about your father?” Hermione tried again.

“My da? My da won’t do anything to risk my dad. We get to see him once a month, but it would change like that,” Black snapped his fingers, “if my da started rocking the boat.”

“It’s not fair.”

Black looked at her like she was the stupidest person ever, “Nothing is.”

Dean decided it would be a good time to ask for his quill to be resharpened.

 

When Black finally decided they were coached enough to face the next day, they were all yawning. Scurrying back to the Gryffindor Tower they found the common room in complete uproar.

“There you are,” exclaimed Professor McGonagall. “Whatever have you been doing with them Mr Black?”

“Practicing my crucios,” said Black stonily.

Dean didn’t understand what Black had just said, but the round of horrified gasps from the Professor and other Gryffindors convinced him it wasn’t anything good.

“Ignore the idiot,” he ordered cheerfully and knocked his arm companionably against Black’s.

Then Hermione recovered her powers of speech, “Of course he wasn’t doing anything like that. He was, was,”

“Showing them around the castle,” finished Black.

“Exactly,” said Hermione.

“Cruciatus is not a joking matter,” said the Professor frostily. Her gaze seemed seemed to be on the short, chubby boy. 

Black actually looked a bit ashamed. “Sorry,” he said, also looking at the chubby boy.

The Professor’s lips were very thin. She started to say something, then changed her mind. She turned to the crowd, “Students, go to your dormitories. I will deal with this.”

“Preferably by expelling Black before he crucios us all in our beds,” muttered a voice from the clump of red-headed Weasleys.

“To your dormitories,” said Professor McGonagall more loudly. Slowly the other students began to reluctantly pull away and troop up the stairs. Dean didn’t move, and neither did Hermione.

When the common room was finally empty, the Professor said,

“Mr Black, you will find your time at Hogwarts goes much more smoothly if you let the past stay in the past.”

“I get to see my dad once a month – in Azkaban. The past is still right here.”

“That attitude will not win you any friends here.”

“I don’t want friends. My dad had friends – and not one of them spoke up for him, did they Professor?”

Professor McGonagall’s face was white and furious, “Five house points from Gryffindor.”

Even Dean could see that was a rubbish way of winning a dispute.

“But that’s not fair,” Hermione argued back.

“Silence,” said the Professor.

Hermione gave an incensed little huff but remained quiet when Black reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “I understand that today has been difficult for you. So we will consider tomorrow to be a fresh start.”

“You can consider it whatever you want, madam.” Black bobbed a short half-bow, turned on his heel and stalked away. Hermione hurried after him and took his hand in hers. Dean could see Black’s shoulders twitch irritably but he didn’t shrug her away. Dean looked at the Professor, she was watching Black and Hermione walk away, her eyes bleak and bitter.

After a moment she turned to him, “Mr Thomas, Mr Finnegan is a half-blood, he will be able to answer your questions and help you fit into Wizarding Society.”

That was just mean. Dean glared at her, “It’s okay. Black’s doing fine.” He span around and chased after the other two, taking station on Black’s other side and deliberately linking their arms.

“You’re both mental,” Black grumbled.

“Takes one to know one,” Dean retorted happily.


	4. Chapter 4

The Wizarding World sadly did not improve on closer acquaintance. Black turned out to be completely correct and Dean heard, _not bad for a Muggle-born_ , practically every other class, even when he had the exact same results as one of the true-born students. Hermione mostly got sour looks because she was quite blatantly better than the majority of the true-born students. Professor McGongall said, “It was encouraging to see such promise from a Muggle-born.” She meant genuinely meant it as praise, which was somehow even worse.

Black, on the other hand, collected dirty looks everywhere he went. If he didn’t get them straight off, he was rude and objectionable until there were points deducted and detentions issued.

“Don’t get mad,” said Dean one day after dinner, “but Professor McGonagall might have point when she says you deliberately make life hard for yourself.”

“I don’t care,” said Black, “I hate them and I hate being here and I’m not going to let them forget it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Dean,” Hermione sounded shocked right out of her skin. “He has to go to school.”

“Yeah, but there are other schools, right? Why’d you come here, when you hate it, and they don’t much like you either?”

Black hissed. “I didn’t want to. Da was making arrangements for me to go Valliamos in Brazil, but the Ministry refused to give me an exit visa. So then we tried Men-y-groch, it’s a small board school in Wales,” he added at their blank looks, “but Dumbledore sent Da a letter saying that it was hardly suitable for the Black heir not to go to Hogwarts and perhaps they needed to look into my living arrangements. So we didn’t have any choice. I had to come here or they’d take me away.” Black’s voice shook a bit. “I hate them all.”

“Oh Merle, that’s horrible.” 

There was a soft thump that Dean figured was Hermione throwing herself against Black in a fierce hug. He didn’t look though because Black had sounded unnervingly close to tears. Not that Dean blamed him.

There were a couple of violent sniffs and then Black said, “So the plan is to try and get Gryffindor into negative points.”

Dean risked a glance and saw Black scrub his eyes with his fists. 

“Of course,” Black continued, “I’m going to have to work twice as hard as I thought because Hermione is obviously going to be a natural points generating machine.”

“Merle,” Hermione protested. Dean peeked again, and yes she was blushing. Black was smiling though his eyes were still red.

“It’s true,” Dean agreed. “They’re talking about you equaling Lily Potter’s record for house points.”

“Hah,” said Hermione, “Lily Potter was a Muggle-born.”

“What’s that mean?” Black snapped, suddenly defensive and shadowed. Lily Potter appeared to be the only person from the Wizarding World he actually liked.

“Nothing against Lily Potter,” said Hermione quickly, “I only meant that I’m a Muggle-born and they’re comparing me to another Muggle-born. I don’t want that. I want to equal James Potter’s record.”

“Lily did better than James.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Black grinned. It wasn’t his usual teeth-filled smirk but an honestly happy smile. “James was something of a prankster you see, and he lost a lot of points that way. Lily did way better than him.” Abruptly he seemed to remember himself and hunched up self-consciously. “My Dad was their best friend, he talks about them all the time.”

Dean nudged him with shoulder to try and cheer him up a bit.

“I don’t have to,” said Hermione abruptly.

“What?”

“I don’t have to get points. Not if the plan is to get Gryffindor into negative points.”

Dean blinked in surprise. Hermione _lived_ for house points.

“Nah,” said Black, “you needn’t do that. More of a challenge this way, right. But, um, you know, thanks.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. Painfully tentative, as if he thought Hermione would slap him down.

Dean watched them both squirm in their seats. He didn’t think either of them had friends before they came to Hogwarts, and neither of them had much idea of how to go about it, but they were trying really hard. He wanted to hug them like he would Amy when she was nervous.

“Come on,” he said finally, “show me how to transfigure a button again.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was only one teacher that Black didn’t play up for, and that was the Potion’s Master. Now Professor Snape was really scary and Dean would have minded his p’s and q’s for him regardless. Black, though he didn’t seem to like him any, still verged on the polite.

In the first lesson, when Professor Snape started firing questions at him, Black just kicked Hermione under the desk to make her put her arm down (Wizards apparently didn’t raise their hands in class), and calmly answered them all.

The Professor’s face screwed up like he was sucking on a lemon,

“At least you seem to be prepared to study, boy.”

“Yes Professor.”

“I suppose you expect house points for that pathetic display.”

“No Professor.”

The Professor stared at him for a long minute, then spun around.

“Weasley! Name three ingredients you would use in a sleeping potion.”

Weasley stuttered his way through a string of suggestions that even Dean knew were wrong, before hitting on three by luck instead of judgment. Hermione was practically twitching with eagerness and Black kicked her under the table again.

Dean was enormously thankful for the crash course in potions Black had put them through. Particularly after he saw the painful mess Longbottom and Finnegan made of things.

“But they’re both Wizard-born,” he said to Black later in the safety of their study, “shouldn’t they know this stuff?”

“Not unless somebody taught them. Finnegan’s a halfie, he went to Muggle primary school and his Mum is playing Muggle. She might have shown him some wandwork, but potions require a lot of supplies she probably doesn’t keep around.”

“And Neville?” asked Hermione. “He always seems so nervous poor boy.”

“He was brought up by his Gran, and they thought he was a squib for a long time. Besides the Longbottom’s are rich. They buy in potions, they don’t make them.”

“But Professor Snape said Potions was really powerful,” Hermione protested, “the, the,” she waved her hands she tried to remember the exact words. Dean couldn’t remember any of the details of the speech, he’d been pretty busy deciding whether he was creeped out, or scared senseless.

“ – the delicate power of liquids and brewing glory and stoppering death.”

“Yeah, and he wouldn’t have had to say any of that if he didn’t have a classful of Wizard-born who all think potions is a little bit well,” he sniffed like he’d smelt something bad, “Muggle.”

“So potions aren’t powerful like the Professor said?” asked Dean.

“No, Potions are everything the Professor said they were. They’re as close to the power of the ancients like Merlin that the average Wizard will ever get. They’re also,” sniff, “Muggle. Anyone who can afford them buys potions. Rather like Muggles buy ready meals because they can’t be bothered to cook.”

“Some Muggles cook. It’s a thing, they buy in all the posh ingredients and make their own bread and stuff,” said Dean. “My mum likes watching them on telly.”

“Ye-es,” Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “But that’s because it’s a way of showing how rich they are. They don’t cook ordinary food, do they?”

“Some Wizards make a thing of brewing their own potions,” Black offered, “the Blacks were famous for it. Most don’t though. And no pureblood would make a career of it. Professor Snape’s a halfie.”

“Really?” Dean grinned. His smile quickly died when he thought how the Professor would react to being called a halfie.

“But it doesn’t really make sense,” said Hermione. “If potions are so powerful, why wouldn’t purebloods study them.”

“Da says it’s because they’re idiots. Like in the old days when people who thought they were important wouldn’t do anything to make money, even though you can’t survive without money, because making money was low class.”

Hermione huffed, “People just aren’t logical.”

“You’re telling me,” Black slumped in his seat.


	6. Chapter 6

But despite all the annoyances and just plain unfairness, there was one truly brilliant thing about the Wizarding World: Flying. Black had been completely and totally right when he said Quidditch was better than football. It was amazing, like football times three. Dean and Hermione weren’t even all that behind the Wizard-born students, which surprised Dean.

“No matter what Malfoy and Weasley like to claim, you just don’t have enough control over your magic to fly until you’re ten or so,” Black explained, “it would be like trying to ride a bike when you can’t reach the pedals. You can buy fancy brooms for little kids that are basically the equivalent of battery-operated but they aren’t good training because they work completely differently and the aerodynamics are screwed all to hell.”

Hermione huffed disapprovingly at the language and Black flushed.

“Sorry, my da goes on about them a lot. He’d have liked to have been a broom designer, you know, if things had worked out.” Black hunched up defensively as he always did when he talked about his dads. Hermione bumped her shoulder against his in forgiveness.

Hermione hadn’t been so forgiving when it came to their first broom ride.

It wasn’t exactly a good start that they had to sneak out at midnight to borrow the school brooms.

“I don’t understand why we can’t learn properly in flying class,” Hermione complained once they were safely out the castle. Hermione had learned to keep quiet until they were safely out of range of the caretaker after three near misses. Black was ruthless with his Silencios.

“Because Madam Hooch won’t be teaching you, she’ll be teaching the purebloods who’ve all been up on relative’s broom and all have a basic idea of what to do. You need a chance to find out what flying’s like without any pressure.”

Hermione still looked doubtful.

“And I am not going to let Malfoy sneer at you when you look shocked stupid that you’re actually flying on a broomstick.” Black folded his arms and glared, daring them to call him on being very nearly nice.

Dean turned his head to hide his smile and kicked Hermione’s foot to keep from saying anything that would give away the fact they’d noticed the niceness.

Black narrowed his eyes at him. Dean was pretty sure Black considered kicking Hermione to keep her quiet his job.

“So brooms,” said Dean.

“Brooms,” Black agreed. “First we actually have to get hold of them. The shed is probably warded, so I’m going to cast a detection spell first of all.”

“Oooh,” Hermione brightened right up at the promise of being shown new magic. “Though wouldn’t there be magic to detect you doing the detection spell?”

Black sighed heavily but answered the all the same. That was his deal with Hermione, she wouldn’t commit the horribly Muggle sins of asking questions or raising her hand in class, and Black would answer as many questions as she wanted out of class. Black often moaned that if he had any idea how many questions Hermione could come up with, he would never have agreed to such a stupid thing. He did always answer her questions though.

After way more discussion than Dean would have preferred, only Black and Hermione would stand around talking about wand flicking when they could be flying, they finally broke into the shed.

Dean stared at the higgledy-piggledy stack of raggedy looking brooms.

“Shocking condition,” muttered Black, “Da would skelp me if I left our brooms lying around like that.”

“You have a lot of brooms?” Dean asked, surprised because he’d got the idea brooms were expensive and that Black and his da didn’t have a lot of money.

Black jumped, “Of our own?” he shook his head violently, “No. We couldn’t afford a second-hand Cleansweep, well we could, but no. Da works at a broom rink fixing up the brooms. They hire out the really fancy racing brooms so ordinary Witches and Wizards can fly them. We have every Nimbus model produced.”

“Cool.” 

Black suddenly shrank down; small, suspicious and hunted, “You can’t tell anyone though.”

“Course we won’t,” said Dean easily and Hermione nodded seriously.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Why’s it a secret?” Hermione asked, and Dean rolled his eyes at her inability not to know stuff.

“Cos if the papers found out Da worked there they’d have to give him the sack.”

“That’s discrimination.”

“Duh,” said Black. “Da got the sack from Nimbus, Comet, and Cleansweep. And lots of other places wouldn’t even hire him. Broomstix threw him out the shop and told him if he didn’t get lost they’d set the dogs on him.” 

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

Black blinked dreamily, “One day I’m going to burn that place right down to ashes.” His sleepy grin grew sharp and wicked. “Never know, maybe the whole Alley will go up in flames.” 

It was creepy how Black kept threatening to destroy people and places. Mostly because Dean wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

“Your da told you that?” he asked suspiciously, because it didn’t seem a very Dad thing to do. Dean’s dad got all stressed about work and strode about the kitchen waving his hands in the air, but he always stopped if Dean or his sister and brother walked in, and would laugh and tell them it was just people being stupid and not to worry. And Dean didn’t because his dad was much too clever to let any stupid people get the better of him.

“I was waiting for him outside the shop. We’d just been kicked out of the flat off Knockturn Alley. It was because the papers were all stirred up again. Da gets worried when that happens.”

Hermione made a small squeaking sound and Dean peeked nervously to see if she was going to cry. Instead she looked almost as angry as Black, even her curls seemed to be bristling with fury.

Dean shifted nervously. Maybe it would be better if Hermione did the flailing, wailing thing most girls did. She was a little bit scary like this.

Even Black seemed to think so, he patted her arm,

“It wasn’t that bad, honest. And my da’s old boss heard about it and he got Da the job at the broom rink. He told me he’d always been sorry they had to let Da go. He’s making a whole new broom and he comes round the rink to try it out and pick my da’s brains. Mr Spudmore says my da’s too brilliant to be wasted. This summer he brought over an experimental model, he’s going to call it the Firebolt.”

“A new broom?” 

“Yeah, it’s going to be wicked,” Black grinned exuberantly. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Usually Black acted like far older than Dean. Now with his grey eyes beaming with delight, he looked like Dean’s little brother Josh and Dean felt weirdly protective all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous because Black was well able to take of himself.

“Did you get to fly it?” asked Hermione.

“Uh-huh,” Black nodded eagerly. “It was great. Da wouldn’t let me do any tricks though, which was utterly unfair. _He_ did a cartwheel, double-somersault dismount which is so dangerous they’ve banned Quidditch players from using it to celebrate. The guys from the broom company were dead impressed.”

“A cartwheel, double-somersault?” asked Dean trying to figure out how that would work.

“So dangerous it’s been banned?” Hermione’s voice rose to a shrill shriek.

“Yeah. If you’re already tired out from a Quidditch game you can really mess it up. You stand on you broom near the brush, then cartwheel along the handle, before somersaulting off. If you’re going to try a double, you need to be high enough in the air to fit the double turn in, but not so high your broom can’t slow up your landing enough when you’re hanging on to it vertically. 

“Oh, and you also have to remember to grab onto the broom as you somersault. Some Qudditch player forgot once, plummeted to the ground and broke both his legs in eight places. That’s when they banned it. You want me to show you?”

“Yeah,” breathed Dean, glowing with excitement.

“No,” yelped Hermione.

Dean glowered, “Don’t be a wet blanket.”

“No. No. Merle if you even try, I swear I’ll go straight and get a Professor. I don’t care if you never speak to me again.”

“I could do it,” Black sulked.

“Could do it?” Hermione’s voice was so high and sharp Dean half-expected her to have vibrated right off the ground. “Have you ever tried it before?”

“No, Da wouldn’t let me, even on a rotten Comet. But I could.”

Dean rubbed at his head, “Maybe we better give it a miss, mate.” It wasn’t that he thought Hermione was right or anything, but the idea that Black might crash-land and break both his legs made him feel awful queasy.

“I’m good at this.”

“Merle, we’re muggle-born, remember,” said Hermione earnestly, “you don’t have to do anything so fancy, just flying around the pitch will impress us.”

“Who said I wanted to impress you?” grumped Black.

Dean clapped his hands together loudly, “So how do we do this flying thing again?” he demanded, having learned the hard way it was easiest to simply head a Hermione-Black quarrel off at the pass.

Black looked suspicious but the lure of flying was too high. He turned to the heap of brooms,

“Give me a moment to find three decent ones.”


End file.
